


Weathering The Storm

by Assumare



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assumare/pseuds/Assumare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the weather goes to shit Karkat can't help but to take pity on this beautiful stranger playing music in the eye of the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weathering The Storm

Shoulders hunched, hands buried deep in pockets, and chin tucked in scarf to keep the chill away, you walk quickly down the street, through the inside of the tunnel on your way to work, the wind whistling quietly and trying its best to go straight through you. It’s cold, wet, and certainly not the time for anyone in their right mind to be outside. 

Basically, a usual morning on your way to work. 

Barely anyone is walking around, and no one stops to listen to the street performer parked inside the tunnel today. You feel bad for him; freezing certainly can’t be worth the few dollars he’ll earn today. You toss a couple of said dollars in his guitar case and stubbornly refuse to look back or show how much you’re blushing when his song suddenly switches to thanking the “cute softie who just gave out money to a stranger in the cold” when you walk by. You quicken your pace and don’t stop until you reach the bookstore when he then starts singing about how “rude” you are because you “didn’t even include your number, and your behind is as equally generous as your front.”

You’d almost consider going back and either chewing him out or demanding your money back, but you forget about the incident an hour into your shift. 

From the front window you can see the entrance to the tunnel, and from time to time throughout the day you can see the performer moving to the front to attract more of a crowd than from inside the tunnel, but it’s too windy and rainy for him to do it for long without getting drenched. You think about getting him a hot drink during your lunch break, but you only remember this idea after it’s already over. 

With a storm brewing and the weather being as miserable as it is, there’s very little traffic in the bookstore, and you spend the majority of the day reading behind the counter or doing a little inventory. It’s dark before you know it, way before it normally would be without the storm, and the owner sends you home, knowing that you’ll have to walk back in the cold and quickly-fading light.

The walk home leaves you feeling strangely peaceful and quiet. Today you got to read a book you thoroughly enjoyed and listen to the rain against the window in the front. You feel somewhat lonely, but also at peace, and content.

You pass the performer in the tunnel. Amazingly, he is still playing. You thought he would be at home by now, wherever that is. You stop to listen, but you’re not sure he notices you. He’s struggling to see in the dark of the tunnel, made much darker by the setting nightfall and storm. The shadows creep across his face, and you admit to yourself that he’s attractive. The sunglasses he was wearing earlier hang from the neck of his tshirt. He plays very softly, no longer singing, but it carries easily. You know when he notices you because he stops for a moment, and plays louder.

The song is nice, a stark cheerfulness against the dull gray of the storm waiting outside.

He starts singing suddenly, loud enough for an actual audience of more than one, and it goes along well with the music. He looks at you and holds eye contact. It’s strikingly meaningful, even if you can’t exactly make out his face all that well. A strange moment between two strangers in the quiet of the storm. There is no one else.

“You’re the one I’m waiting for, forever ever waiting for, you’re the one, mmm, you’re the one-”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and adjusts his guitar into a resting position. 

“Was there something you wanted?”

You look at him for a moment until you’re convinced he wasn’t joking. “No. You were just playing music and I stopped to listen. Is that a crime now?”

He laughs and brushes his hair off to the side to keep it out of his face, like a lot of douchebags you’ve seen. “No man, calm down. No one’s jumping on you for that, I was just wondering. Most people want to go home as soon as possible and not stop to listen to some mediocre musician, that’s all.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to play anymore music at the moment, but you can’t say you mind. You’re usually the type of person to hurry by on the street and get to wherever you’re going quickly with the least interaction possible, but today you’re not in a hurry, and even though the weather is shitty as fuck, you’re interested in this guy. 

“Why are you still out here? You can’t be earning enough money to make it worthwhile.” 

You look around and the tunnel is as empty as you thought it was. Being alone in here while it’s so dark out makes it a bit eerie, but you try not to think about it.

“I’m not, really, but it’s hard to see that there’s much else to do when I don’t have a place to stay.”

You frown, outright concerned. It can’t be safe for him to sleep out in this. He’s no older than you, and he doesn’t _seem_ homeless, but then again, no one really does besides the beggars on the streets, now do they? “You mean you’re sleeping out here in this weather? Are you absolutely positive there’s nowhere for you to stay?” 

“Yeah, man. It’s not that big of a deal though, I’m sure I’ll be fine if I just stay out of the rain.”

You chew your lip and stare at him. He stares back and shrugs, before turning back to his guitar and messing with tuning it. You stare at the pavement as he strums something quietly.

You’re deep in thought, and you think you might be about to do something really outrageous and unintelligent. Not that those traits are unfamiliar to you, of course.

You don’t know this guy. He could be a serial killer. He could be a criminal, he could be a runaway. He could be any number of things you don’t want to deal with, but you feel like you need to do something, and you’re not sure you would feel okay with yourself if you walked away right now without at least trying.

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

He looks back up at you but doesn’t stop strumming quietly. “What’s up, dude? There seems to be a lot happening up in that head of yours. If you’ve got worries you can lay them on me, I won’t tell a soul.” He crosses his heart with one hand sincerely but smirks at you sarcastically. You can’t figure him out, but you’re not as worried about that as you probably should be.

“What’s your name?” 

“Dave.”

“Well Dave, I’m Karkat, and you’re coming home with me.”

A weighted pause makes you turn red but you try to hold it back and pretend it’s not happening by avoiding eye contact.

“Woah, that’s bold. I figured you were more the type to be all shy about it and leave your number behind or something, and who said I really _want_ to just-”

You can feel yourself turning redder, but you cut him off hopefully before he notices. 

“Not for that, you perverted fuckhead! I’m offering you a warm, dry place for you to sleep in, not to fuck in! I might even feed you if you can keep your trap shut while you’re eating, that way I can keep it full and never listen to you! Now are you coming or not, asshole?!”

You can tell that there’s no hiding the shade you’ve turned or the clenching of your fists, but he doesn’t comment, and just takes you in for a moment with a head tilt.

After another long, silent, awkward pause he nods and grins. “Sure, I’m down. But don’t blame me if fucking happens. I’m damn near irresistible, or so I hear.”

“The only thing you hear is your brain oozing out of your head every single time a teenage girl lacking self-esteem swoons for songs you sing that all say the same things with different words and a catchy tune, asshat.” You mutter as he collects his guitar, case, and foldable stool. He must hear you (you tend to have volume control issues) as he claps a hand on your shoulder, unexpectedly close and quick at packing up, and laughing loudly, a grin stretching across his face. 

Hearing the sound, seeing that look... You feel awed. 

Something punches you in the gut as you realize he’s gorgeous.

You’re blushing extremely red again but manage to look away when he turns to look at you. You shrug off the hand on your shoulder, faking annoyance, as you trudge ahead, leading the way.

The walk to your home is spent in slight annoyance as you realize he does not. Shut up. Apparently you can also add “rapping” to his list of musical talents because he demonstrates on the way there that he can, with some comments about the whole of you being, “very generous.” 

At that, your fading blush sneaks back up on you as you remember his comment from this morning that was along those same lines. You guess he hadn’t forgotten about that, as you had hoped.

It occurs to you when you’re almost there that he’s likely nervous, and thinks you might actually be expecting some sort of payback, maybe in the form of sex. You feel a little guilty (and maybe something inside you melts a little at the thought of him being nervous) but you obviously show him home anyway.

He doesn’t comment on the size of your apartment or the location, even though it’s a fairly small living space for two or three people and it’s not in the greatest part of town to live. Luckily though, it’s near work and downtown, and that’s really all you care about.

“Okay, rules.” You start, opening the front door and flicking lights on while simultaneously scraping your shoes on the mat and then taking them off. “No turning up the heater a million degrees. I am not running a sauna, I’m barely running functional appliances, plus it’ll probably break if you go over 68, and it takes a while to heat up. There’s blankets. Secondly, I don’t have roommates so you don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone but me, but someone might drop in and have to stay the night, so don’t freak out if someone opens the door with a key. Third, uh, don’t eat all my food or leave it out or shit like that. Don’t want ants, don’t have endless supplies of money. Any questions, ask me first, don’t just test stuff out, okay? You’re welcome to use the shower if you want it, but don’t stay in there forever. Got it? Good. I’m making tea.”

You quickly step away from him, finding yourself extremely close due to the narrow nature of the entrance to the apartment, and make your way to the kitchen, quickly putting on hot water and taking out mugs. You hear him follow you, and you glance down to notice that he’s taken his shoes off as well. You don’t comment, but you’re a little glad; you don’t want mud everywhere. His socks are well worn. Most likely can’t find or afford new ones. You frown for a second before quickly realizing he may notice and busying yourself with changing the thermostat.

“You know how we could save water?” You turn to ask him how when you see his expression paired with wiggling eyebrows and you frown deeper, annoyed. You hope it’s not going to be like this all night, not to mention this isn’t exactly the greatest setting to make jokes like that.

“Just fucking take your shower quickly if you want to. I would like one too, if you’re going to leave any water left.” 

“Why don’t you just go first then?”

You squint at him, trying to see if he has an ulterior motive, but his face is just too blank to read anything from it. Sometime while you were walking or when you entered the apartment he must’ve put his shades back on for some asinine reason. You’re worried he’s going to steal what little you have or worse, try to pull something while you’re showering, _naked_ , but you want to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Still, “You better not fucking try anything while I’m in there. I’m serious, you can forget about sleeping out of the way of the storm tonight or being fed if you do, because I will _be_ the fucking storm if you can’t respect personal boundaries. Dickwad.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he does seem reassuringly sincere when he replies. “Yeah, of course dude. Our beautiful bromance just got started, I wouldn’t demolish it like that, that shits just rude as fuck. I’ll just sit in here and get warm, you know. Huddle like a goddamn penguin with my blankets. It’s chill. Or well, not chill, but like, warming up from chill, you know? But it started there, and that’s what counts.”

You give him a bizarre look but nod slowly, believing him. Or believing what you could understand of that, at least. You finally just tell him to take the hot water off and help himself when it’s done before hopping in the shower.

Nothing happens, and before you know it, you’re on the couch, wondering why he didn’t watch some tv while he was waiting for you, warmer in your pajamas and listening to the shower running from behind the other wall. You realize it’s because you told him not do anything he was unsure about before asking you, and although it was totally okay for him to use it, he took your words to heart and actually listened. You’re a little shocked, but pleased.

You’re not sure what you are when Dave comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and nothing else. Luckily, he looks almost as red as you probably are.

You’re previous assertion of his attractiveness was definitely correct, and you stutter before pushing out an exclamation, when you finally realize that he’s dripping on your carpet and isn’t actually appropriately dressed for the situation. “What do you think you’re doing?!’

“Dude, I hate to ask this of you, but. Do you have clothes I could maybe, uh...” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a surprisingly awkward movement for the self-proclaimed coolkid. 

“Oh. Uh. Yes, I think I might be able to find something that will fit you. I’ve got a lot of bigger clothing, and some of my friends have stuff here too that you can wear...” You get up and rummage through your drawers to find comfortable clothing you think he’ll probably be able to fit into. 

You hand it to him, red-faced and avoiding eye contact. You don’t tell him that you couldn’t find any of your own clothes you were comfortable with giving him or would fit very well, so you’re letting him borrow some of Gamzee’s old clothes you couldn’t throw away after you stopped talking. You do let him know that you did include a pair of clean boxers, and you splutter out that he doesn’t have to wear them if it makes him uncomfortable. You know, like you’re feeling right now.

Somehow when you’re handing him the clothes and explaining this, the mentioned boxers fall out of the pile and onto the ground. You’re not sure you could turn any redder, but before you can move to pick them up or say something, he’s leaning down to grab them, all lean muscles taut as he stretches, skin glistening with water and wearing nothing but a towel to cover his nice ass.

You look up at the ceiling and swallow thickly. You can’t handle this bullshit.

You almost push him back into the bathroom to get changed but you stop yourself before you touch him, _holy shit what were you thinking_ , and quickly disappear back into the living room and onto the couch. Your face is burning. You ignore it and try to watch whatever shitty movie is playing on the screen. You fail.

He comes out and joins you after a blank stare full of indecision. His face is so unreadable, especially with those shades. You’re not sure if you should mention them.

He sits too close, too far away. Respectable distance for friends. Interesting.

“So, why are you doin’ this, man?” 

You exhale. Why are you doing this? “Doing what? I’ve done a lot of questionable things in my life, you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.” You know what he’s referring to, but you want him to say it.

He turns to face you, and you can’t help but turn as well, meeting his blank, unreadable stare. “You know what I mean. Why are you letting some stranger off the street into your house and home? That’s pretty risky, honestly I can’t say that I would probably do the same. Unless you make a habit of letting homeless dudes into your home, which I think you probably don’t. I could be some kind of ruthless killer, waiting to steal your jewels or some shit and stabbing you in your sleep.”

“It would serve me right for letting you stay.” You sigh, bringing you knees to your chest and officially ignoring the television. You weren’t paying attention to what was playing, anyway. 

“I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right for me to leave you out there.” You know that’s an unsatisfactory answer but it’s all you’ve got. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t taken in the homeless before, but you’re very cautious and do it very rarely. Most of the people you’ve had stay here have been your friends for years, and the reason you took them home in the first place was because of similar reasons. Plus, you remember being in that position, and you rarely got help. When you did, you were thankful, and you made a promise to yourself to help others in the same way. Still, it was a risk, you always knew it was. 

“I don’t have any jewels or really much of anything of extreme value, but if you murder me in my sleep, I’ll be sure to come back and haunt your ass until you’re dead too.”

He laughs at that, and you catch yourself staring again. 

Fuck. 

Just, fuck.

You’re asking the question before you register doing so or try to stop yourself.

“Why are you wearing those shades? They make you look like a douchebag.”

Fuck, what the fuck are you doing? You’re such an asshole sometimes, you don’t understand how anyone can stand you. Maybe it’s a sensitive topic, maybe it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about. 

His smile fades a bit and he adjusts his shades a bit, probably self-consciously. You’re beating yourself up mentally. You are the insensitive prick, it is you.

“Nah man, these shades are cool as fuck. I gotta keep my peepers covered because if I just let any old person on the street see them, they’d get hypnotised by my attractiveness, you know? It leads to all sorts of awkward situations, and I’m just there to play music, so it’s like, I want people to focus on my sick beats and not how hot I am for once. It’s hella tiring, dealing with all my lovesick fans like that. I don’t expect you to understand.”

He shrugs and drops his knee, which he had been holding to his chest, to the floor. “But you know, you’re like my knight in shining armor and shit, so I figure I can make an exception.” 

You’re blinking in confusion, understanding that oh, a joke, he’s not upset or anything, that’s good, but not following what he’s doing until his shades are already moved on top of his head and he’s staring straight ahead, straight at you, gauging your reaction.

You don’t get anything at first until you fully focus and realize you’ve forgotten to inhale.

Wow. 

You feel another punch to the gut as an increasingly-familiar feeling overcomes you again, staring at him.

His eyes are a bright, but not enough to be unsettling, red. Now that you can see his face fully in the light, without any hindrances, you agree with your previous assessment even more so. He’s... fucking beautiful. You don’t have words. He’s way more attractive than you even thought.

You clear your throat after a tense moment, coming back to reality and noticing that the both of you have just been sitting on your couch, staring at each other in absolute stillness. 

“I’ve seen better.” You grumble, trying desperately to push down the blush already rising to your face as you look away. 

He laughs at you, mumbling something like, “yeah right” in a cocky manner, which makes you snicker as well and turn redder as you can’t help but silently agree.

You flicker through the channels until you find a crappy made-for-tv romcom you’ve seen a few hundred times already and settle in. You’re a little tense he’s going to say something, but god dammit, it’s your home and you’re going to watch whatever the fuck you want and he can just fuck you if he has a problem with that.

Uh. Fuck _off_. Not fuck you, specifically. That would be, uh...

You’re desperately trying to distract yourself from your derailment when he interrupts your thoughts, him being the one blurting embarrassing things now.

“Can I photograph you?”

You become aware of the fact he’s actually been watching you this whole time, not watching the television like you thought. Luckily, he’s also slightly red when you look at him, like he hadn’t meant to say what he did.

“Uh, what? Why the fuck would you want to do that?”

He’s turning a darker red and you revel in the thought that you might be affecting him at least half as much as he is you.

“Not for weird purposes or anything, I just like to photograph people sometimes, and you seem like a chill candidate for that. It’s an honor to be photographed by me, dude.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious, but you nod. “Sure, why the fuck not.”

“Cool.” He nods too for an awkward moment (you’re beginning to see he’s not a suave as he thinks he is) and leaps up before disappearing behind you somewhere. You figure he must keep his camera in his guitar case. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten his guitar or the camera stolen, but then again, maybe he’s just really good at defending himself. Or maybe he hasn’t been on the streets for very long? His clothes had seen better days, but they weren’t as worn as some others on the street. But it was possible he was just lucky.

He returns holding a plain black camera that obviously isn’t the best quality but still of considerable ability. It probably costed quite a bit. You doubt he bought it after he became homeless; it’s probably something left over from his life at home, wherever that used to be. Chances are it was a gift, not something that he was ever able to afford himself. You don’t question why he didn’t try selling it. You’ve been in that situation, you understand.

You eye the thing with a certain wariness. You’ve never liked getting your photo taken, and the results always seem awful to you.

“Don’t look so scared, bro. It’s not going to shoot lasers at you or anything.” He’s messing the settings and not looking directly at you, but you stare into the lens anyways. You hear a click and realize he has taken a photo, probably of your scowl, and that makes you want to turn away and scowl further.

“Dude, chill. I’m not going to take photos of you if you don’t want. Just keep watching tv, you won’t even notice.”

You breathe and nod, redirecting your attention to the movie again. It’s hard to ignore the focused stare and seemingly giant camera, but you try to keep track of the main character in the movie instead.

It’s not hard to get lost in the movie eventually, even if it is shitty by your standards, and you can hear the clicking of the camera going on. You startle when you turn to find him much closer than inspected, but ignore him when prompted to.

After a while he puts the camera away and the two of you talk about random things, like life and movies, and bicker over the control of the remote. 

You wake up several hours later, the rain still pouring down and the night pitch black, with your head on his shoulder and his on top of yours, some old Godzilla movie playing on screen. The two of you must’ve fallen asleep around the same time. 

You turn off the tv and mean to get up and go to your own bed, but you’re warm here, lying next to him and covered with blankets. You don’t sleep as often as you like and getting up seems like too much effort at the moment... You’ll just close your eyes for a moment more...

You wake up again somewhat early in the morning. Earlier than you need to for work but then again, you went to bed much earlier than you normally do anyways. Dave must’ve gotten up and realized what had happened at some point, because you’re still on the couch, but instead lying down and curled into the side with a blanket thrown over you. This couch can’t really fit more than one person lying on it, so you’re unsurprised to see Dave awake and sitting on the floor with a blanket of his own, leaning against the couch and your laptop propped open on his lap, the cord plugged in on the far wall. You frown for a moment, upset that he found it and took it upon himself to use it without asking. 

“Dave?”  
He turns to look at you, quirking one side of his lips up at the sight of your sleepy expression and terrible bedhead. “Good morning, sunshine. Finally decided to get up for good this time?”

“What?” You smack your lips together to get the taste of sleep out of your mouth. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing on my computer?”

Dave frowns at you. You notice his glasses are still off his face, hanging around the tshirt you got for him. “You said I could use it earlier, remember? You woke up for a little when I tried to move you and then went back to sleep.”

You do vaguely remember that happening, and it’s not uncommon for you to forget anything that happens while you’re half asleep.

“Yeah, okay. Did I say anything else?”

He chuckles quietly. “You weren’t making a lot of sense, most of what you had to say was mumbling, but I did ask you what I should do about my clothes and you said there wasn’t a washer. I couldn’t really understand anything else.”

You nod. You don’t have a washer or dryer, so you usually take your laundry down every two weeks to a local laundromat downtown. It’s hell to carry all that crap with you, but you don’t have much of a choice. Sometimes you can get a ride from your friends or a neighbor, but usually you have to haul it all on foot.

It’s still raining outside. You sigh. You need to go to work in an hour.

“Well, you can stay here today again since I’m not about to put you outside with the weather still being just as shitty as yesterday, and I can wash your clothes for you at the laundromat downtown when I go to work if you’re willing to stick around. Is that okay?”

Dave stares at you for a minute, before nodding. “Yeah man, that’d be great. Thanks.”

You let him know that he doesn’t have to stay at your apartment the whole day, the fridge is his to rummage through, and there’s a key under the mat on the doorstep.

He’s a little shocked by your kindness and very humble about it, which in turn makes the two of you awkward and red faced about everything. 

Work is about as exciting as the day before, except it seems to drag on a lot longer since you actually want to be home right now. You space out a lot during work and can’t seem to focus on the new novel you start. You wonder if he’s doing okay, if he’ll try earning money today, or if he’ll even still be there when you go home. You have his clothes with you, and you wash them during your lunch break at the laundromat just a few blocks down, but you know that he might just cut his losses and take off. You hope that if he has, he isn’t going to sleep out somewhere cold or unsafe tonight.

The owner sends you home early again, a coy smile on her lips. She noticed that your mind was elsewhere today and asked who the “special someone” was. You snorted and packed to leave, hurrying to go home.

Well, Dave might be “special,” but not in the way she thinks. Well, not exactly.

The ass himself walks through the door, the bell ringing as it does when customers stop by. You told him where you work at in case he needed to stop by for any reason but you didn’t actually expect him to.

“Dave, what are you doing here? I was about to start heading home.” He’s wearing his sunglasses again and looking around the shop curiously, but one tell-tale hand is scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Oh, you know. Just thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing, I guess.” His answer is weak, and try to hide the smile that comes from him thinking about you.

The owner gives you another knowing smile and shoos you out of the store. “He’s just ended his shift, so he’s all yours. Take care of each other in this weather, all right?” She winks at you and turns to continue inventory. 

The walk home is cold and wet, like before, and it’s getting dark. This time you don’t talk much, but enjoy each other’s company in the silence. It’s extremely comfortable, more than you would’ve thought. (But you can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind that makes him so quiet.)

The house is nice and warm for once when you get home. You suspect your heating bill will regret that, but for now, you welcome it. Your feet are wet so you pull off your shoes and socks immediately.

You find yourself a few minutes later on the couch with hot chocolate in hand and slippers on your feet. Dave sits next to you, his guitar in his lap and strumming quietly and absentmindedly. You’ve gotten what little alcohol you have out and put it on your coffee table, but you’re not sure yet if you’re actually in the mood to drink any. 

Dave abruptly puts his guitar down and gets up to set up a movie. You’re not sure what he has in mind, but you’re don’t really care, as long as it isn’t scary. Scary movies don’t frighten you so much as bore you with their predictable plot twists and screaming idiots. 

He sits close tonight, mumbling something about being freezing and needing to get his cuddle on. You don’t protest more than a few grumbles. He wraps the blankets around you both, and you admit to yourself that leaning on him, ignoring the movie and just being at peace for a while is the most refreshing and relaxing thing you’ve done in a long time.

You sit up and look at him, striking you not for the first time how close you feel to him, even though technically, he’s a stranger, whom you will likely never see again when he leaves. It doesn’t seem... Right. 

A familiar tug of your gut reminds you of his beauty. He’s just, simply... 

He turns to look at you, and smiles after a second. He takes his shades off and places them on his head. “I want to show you something.”

You’re a little startled by his voice breaking the unspoken agreement of silence, but you don’t mind. You’re curious. 

He leans over and picks up your laptop from where it lies on the floor, and opens it, messing with a few things until he brings up some photos from his camera. It takes you a moment, but you’re looking at pictures of you.

“They look good, huh? I didn’t actually edit them very much, the lighting was just right in them and everything, it was the perfect moment.”

He clicks through them and you feel in awe, but still, you find yourself staring at him instead. If only there was a way to capture your view of him...

He turns to you and puts the laptop off to his side. 

“That’s all you, you know.” You find yourself blushing, but still unable to turn away. You’re captivated, right here, in this moment.

He leans closer than you were before, moving to tuck a curl of hair or something.

“You’re gorgeous.” He breathes.

You kiss him, knowing absolutely this is supposed to happen and feeling your heart bursting, knowing he’s been seeing you this whole time the same way you’ve been seeing him.

He kisses you back, sinking his long, talented fingers into your thick hair and pressing you close. You don’t mind at all, you’re actually gripping his arms and pulling him to you as well. 

You breathe heavily through your noses and what little you can gasp at when the kiss continues, on and on, never ceasing, neither of you wanting this moment to end. You can’t get enough of each other, but you’re also not in a hurry, and your pace slows down until you separate, and you finally stop pecking at each other’s lips.

You don’t sit back though, and instead stay where you are, so close you breathe each other’s air. You stare into his eyes as he does the same to yours and you feel... Happy. This moment is a perfection you had never even thought to exist outside of a book or television screen.

An explosion happens on screen, drawing your focus back to the room, and you smile, giddy with the feeling filling you. Dave smiles back, almost shyly - you don’t think he’s used to this feeling, either.

You can’t help but to lean forward and quickly plant another kiss on him, this time next to his smile rather than on it. You pull away red-faced, but luckily, his is just as colored. 

“You should sleep in my room tonight, instead of on the couch, okay?” You mumble, half hoping he won’t hear due to your embarrassment. He grins fully instead, and runs one of his hands through the top of your hair. 

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say.” 

This gets you even more red, and you turn away with an irritated embarrassment. He kisses your cheek, and you whip your head back to look at him but he’s the one suddenly embarrassed, and he stands up with a hand on the back of his neck, awkward.

“Well, I’m tired, don’t know about you.” He glances at you, still smiling, and you can’t hold your own smile back.

“Fine, if you say so. It was a bad movie, anyways.” He nudges you when you stand, but you don’t mind. You laugh instead, and drag his admittedly cute ass to your room, and on the queen-sized bed.

You don’t have sex with Dave Strider that night. You kiss a lot and trade stories with the lights dimmed as the wind howls and the rain pours around the house. He tells you how he’s not technically a runaway because he’s the same age as you but he did want to get as far away from his bro as possible, at least for now. You tell him how you moved out here to get away from your parents too and happened across this shitty apartment with your friends who didn’t treat you much better.

You kiss, sometimes passionate makeouts and sometimes just a chaste pressing of the lips, until early into the morning and the outside is quiet.

You talk and kiss until you fall asleep, happy and so close to a human being as never before, but with a sorrow you ignore that acknowledges his leave in the morning.

When you wake, he is gone, but you don’t panic because you hear him in the kitchen, probably failing at whatever it is he’s doing and making a mess of your apartment. You press your fingertips to your lips, smile for a moment, and then go to see what it is that he thinks he’s doing.

He claims he’s making breakfast, but you’ll believe it when you see it. It’s bright and sunny outside, a bird chirping in the only tree on the property, and your heart sinks slightly. Still, with such a nice day, you can’t give up all hope.

You’re not usually this optimistic or in a generally good mood - maybe you’re turning over a new leaf.

You eye Dave from the side, watching him get eggshells all over your oven. 

Yes, a new leaf. That’s it.

You roll your eyes and snap at him for trying to ruin your cooking appliances and he laughs at you before making some long metaphor you can’t quite follow but understand enough to get he’s telling you to chill. He puts a coffee mug in your hand, full, and you sigh gratefully. You assign yourself to watching him instead while you sip at it, and you decide to propose what you’ve been thinking about.

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“I think... You should live here with me. For a while. If you want to.”

Dave stops what he’s doing and turns around to look at you. 

“What do you mean?”

“Goddamit, don’t make this harder than it needs to be! I want you to live here. With me. Just for a little while until you can get your feet on the ground. I know you can’t pay rent and I’m not expecting you to, but we can work together to get you a job and stuff and get your music going or whatever it is you want to do, okay? I just, fuck, I don’t fucking want you to be out there, it’s just not fair, okay?!”

You slam your fist on the table, aware that you’re blowing up for no good reason, but being unable to stop yourself. You remember what it was like, being young and homeless. You were angry then about it being unfair, too.

“Karkat, babe.” Dave puts his spatula down and closes the distance between you so it’s the same as it was last night, this time with his hand on your face. “Karkat, I know it isn’t fair. But I don’t want to burden you, you barely make enough money for yourself.”

You face is a little pink at that, but you can’t deny it. Still, you feel like this is right.

“Dave, please. Don’t be such an obtuse blockhead about this, just stay with me, for a while, at least until you get a job.”

Dave sighs, and hugs you unexpectedly. You hug him back, holding on, hard. He’s so warm, and so... sturdy, you guess. Surprisingly grounded.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Of course I’ll stay here with you. _Temporarily_ though.” He breathes into your shoulder before standing back and planting another kiss on your cheek. 

You look away, grumbling something about him being ridiculous before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him into a proper kiss. One that’s happy and safe and so very, very promising.

The eggs get burned a little, but your happiness doesn’t care a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Years ago when Karkat and Dave were young teens, they actually ran into each other. Karkat was homeless at the time and Dave was doing a photography project based on the unseen, the invisible people the city ignores. He loved the pictures he took of this angry, tiny teen who wore a huge poofy jacket and flipped off the camera all the time, and Karkat would never forget the way that this strange boy kept harassing the homeless for their stories and portraits. Neither of their faces were especially memorable to each other because they were mostly obscured the short time during which they interacted.


End file.
